How Angels Become Human by Kala Godin

They are all in constant movement. In great giant waves of people. Flowing and dancing and creating, and always growing. With two feet, they are so graceful that they practically glide.

I came from the sky. I was born from the wind and stardust. In a body that doesn't know how to hold me. In a body that only knows flight. In a body with wings.

This body wishes to go back to being airborne. Free. I sit at the edge of the cliff and I can practically smell it. Free. My feet lift.

••••••

I have strapped my body to a chair of twisted metal and wheels. To teach my spirit to stay grounded here. Sometimes it hurts to only sit. Sit while others are running. But I wanted to be with them. Wanted to be one of them. This is the closest I will get.

I think I'm forgetting.

•••••

Sitting causes me to become weaker. And the twisted metal looks like it is swallowing me. Consuming the wings. Sometimes my body feels heavy. I hate it. I used to be light as air.

There are gaps in my head where my memories should be.

•••••

Who am I?

I keep plucking feathers from my back. I don't know where they are coming from. I think I dream of flying, but I don't remember anymore. I can't move. Is that normal? My legs don't know how to carry me and I am heavy. Heavy with exhaustion. Heavy with forget.

•••••

They are all in constant movement. In great giant waves of people. Flowing and dancing and creating, and always growing. With two feet, they are so graceful that they practically glide.

I am unwavering, unmoving. Static.

I wish I was one of them. Flowing and swaying like they do. But I was born into a chair of twisted metal and wheels, with a body too weak to carry me. With bright ideas and vivid dreams.

I look kind of like them. But I don't feel like I belong here….. Sometimes I find snow white feathers. And sometimes the wind whispers. “Free.”